Sad, Rude, Future Dude
by LordeKardashian
Summary: Iceland has been left alone, and while he was on tumblr, the house was wrecked. What ever shall our favourite volcanic rock do to save his own behind? Find out right now.


**Sad, Rude, Future Dude**

Oh wow.

Oh shit.

Oh my holy fucking fuck on a sheet.

Oh.

Shit.

There was puppy vomit smeared through the house, a six year old covered in mud, blood stained sheets and puffin shit on the rug.

How the hell does this happen!? I was in my room on Tumblr for about 10 minutes - or hours; but that's not the point - and when I come back a fucking mess vortex opened up in my house. Wow I must have some shit luck.

I went to go check in Sweden's workshop, all clean. Praise be to Jesus. I walked back into the messy ruins that was the living room. I looked to the clock. 30 minutes. They'll be home in 30 minutes. Denmark will charge through the door, followed by a less than impressed Norway. And then Finland and Sweden will amble through that door to the mess.

29 minutes.

I feel that I might need some help here, but I don't know who could help. Certainly not that 4 eyed non Nordic, Estonia. And Hong Kong would just sit around doing fuck all. Anyway, we're burning time.

I quickly made my way to the kitchen and looked under the sink for cleaning products.

I didn't even know we had cleaning products. The more you know I suppose.

27 minutes.

I pulled out the carpet cleaner, small child cleaner, bleach and other assorted bottles of harmful chemicals that will probably rot my brains.

First I should take care of the small child thing and the puppy, the small things are easiest to do first. I quickly bundled up the puppy in a towel and run some water in a sink before staring down the confused 6 year old on the rug.

"Bath time" I said, trying my hardest to be somewhat intimidating. Sealand, the small child, just stared back at me and laughed. I sighed and ended up dragging him by the ankles to the bath. I threw multiple bath toys in with him and told him not to come out until even behind his ears were cleaner than they ever have been.

22 minutes.

Next thing was the sheets. How they got blood on them I don't want to know, but I'm putting my money on Norway finally loosing it and having murdered someone before he left. I stripped the bed in question of it's sheets and threw them in the washing machine, checking before I turned it on that there wasn't a phone in there or some other sort of important part of my life.

17 minutes.

Now it was time to tackle the big problem.

The carpet. I put on Finland's cleaning gloves and several layers of Denmark's clothes so as to protect myself from any diseases that puffin and dog shit contain.

I began by spraying the so called 'miracle carpet cleaner' around the rug and then began wiping the puppy vomit from the walls. After living in the Nordic house for the most part of my life I have learnt to not question it anymore.

If there's a Drunken Australian in a tree. Don't question it.

If there's a cake on the ceiling and a man weeping in the corner. Don't talk about it.

If an unexpected visitor happens to crash through the ceiling. Cushion their fall.

I scrubbed the carpets and the walls and stood back and admired my work. So far so good.

Although the house has taken on the smell of a hospital, however, I doubt that Denmark will notice, since he, Australia and America have had their stomachs pumped in the hospital enough.

10 minutes.

There was ten minutes left and yet there was still a wet dog leaving bubbly paw prints and a 6 year old with a towel on his head calling himself Egypt. Honestly, what are Finland and Sweden teaching him!?

I remembered a trick that I had seen England do to Australia when he had gotten drunk with Denmark on an occasion. I ran into the kitchen and dipped the end of a tea towel in water and snapped it at The small child thing's bottom and watched him run into his room.

Brilliant.

One small thing down, one more to go

7 minutes.

I pulled out Norway's 'hair salon' hair dryer and faced it full blast at the puppy. After about 2 minutes it looked less like a puppy and more like those weird little fluff balls that somehow end up under the couch. Except, this one could walk. And yap.

The dog is the bane of my existence.

4 minutes.

The house still smelled like a hospital and I realised I had neglected a small detail. Though there was a perfectly clean house there was now rather large pile of used cleaning products that were absolutely empty.

Fuck it.

I give up.

That's what I would say if Finland, Sweden, Norway and Denmark weren't going to walk through the door in less than three minutes.

I ran to the pile of cleaning products and reviewed my options; a) I throw them away and get caught taking out the rubbish for the first time in my life, b) burry them in the back garden and pray to lord that I don't get dirty or c) put them all neatly back as I found them.

I decided C was my best option considering if they were empty then it wouldn't be my problem, it would be whoever went to the cleaning products next's problem.

2 minutes.

I carefully replaced the empty bottles to how I best remember finding them. And ran to the couch and planted myself on the spongy cushions, pulled out my phone opened tumblr and relaxed. And not a second before Denmark charged through the door, followed by a less than impressed Norway. And then Finland and Sweden ambled through the door.


End file.
